A bottle of wine with insult,
questions surrounding why waste your time
on a no where, out of step, out of economy,
low class, loser like me.

Hours went by.

Wonder if he will call again, and when.
I'll nail him then.
Point blank shotgun style.
Try not to make a joke out of it,
not too light,
nor too heavy.
Just wondering,
why the lie?

Never call again, what a fool.
What is my value?
Only I will know.
It is a figure I alone can cypher.

Today I am thankful for the silent moments
covering the morning hours,
minutes prolonged inside hushed walls,
absent the pressures of what I must provide.
I am serene.

The oakwood blazes hissing out snowfall's moisture,
kittens frolic, fluffily bouncing, pattering in holiday fluster.
The wintertide's sheepish wool in flight,
drifting upon the up-country's chilled breeze,
let's out a flaked trail towards our summit
crystallizing our land into a brilliant Wonderscape.

No toiling for me this day,
I am at rest, as is my whole house.
Thankfully piddling about
at their most cherished past times.
Allowed to delicately gaze at snowflakes
for hours.

pumice
peat
mulch
humus
leaf mold
clod
loam: a rich, friable soil containing a relatively equal mixture of sand and silt and a somewhat smaller proportion of clay.

marl:  Geology. a friable earthy deposit consisting of clay and calcium carbonate, used especially as a fertilizer for soils deficient in lime.

argil: clay, especially potter's clay.

bole:
noun
1.
any of a variety of soft, unctuous clays of various colors, used as pigments.
2.
a medium red-brown color made from such clay.





clutch
kaolin
loess: a loamy deposit formed by wind, usually yellowish and calcareous, common in the Mississippi Valley and in Europe and Asia.
slip
till: a stiff clay, a glacial drift of clay, sand, gravel, and boulders

all the minutes in each day
ticked by with waking, working,
saying hello, tick, tick, tick,
according to plan.

until the explosion.

Rest, breath, let everything go,
hold on to the stable,
keep your job,
don't spend money,
take your time,
let the fire die.
Let the air blow by,
no need to move,
or build,
or go forward.
Stay quiet, stay still
sleep for a few days,
let the world walk by.

today hasn't been special,
crescendo stilled or spent
in a farther landscape.

today I teetered on heavy sighs,
convinced myself to become more
dignified.

today I wished to wash away
the thoughts of a man in a distant land
laughing freely.

today I think I'll buckle up,
tighten my pack, walk a thousand miles
through thick jungle.

today I'll strip down naked,
wear gypsy spangled slippers,
dance wildly amongst a million strangers.

today I'll wonder If I can alter my life,
add a pound of flesh, and find
what I've been looking for all these years.

To be satisfied, comfortable,
nay, even confident avec mon visage,
ma chemise, la couleur de ma texture,
the comforting weather forty years,
silvering chestnut, softened denim,
******* relaxing, cradled lower,
crows feet etched,
sun worn skin leathered well.

To be comfortable with my tone of beauty,
a select vintage for specific taste.

I'll not suite most passers by,
subtle, almost undetectable,
but for the one who cannot
     shake me from his memory,
the one who will turn to follow
     to witness my slow aging,
the one who's weather I recognize as home.

If you
look at me
as though
you
have something
to say,
Tell me,
Say it.
The pause,
with an expression,
gives me
little
to understand
only much
to fill in
with my
own story
of
what
you
want
to
say.